Behind Bars
by Jetblack595
Summary: Mike Ross is in prison, and with this comes a whole new set of challenges that he never thought he'd have to face - especially without Harvey there to help him. Basically just a continuous Mike in prison fic to help ease the pain of waiting for Season 6, and how I like to imagine Mike handles different situations in prison. Rated M for violence and (somewhat) dark subject matter.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey everyone! So up until now I've only done Criminal Minds fics (none of which I've finished which I'm SO sorry about, but it's on my to-do list please bear with me!) Anyway, given the fact that the end of Suits Season 5 is eating me up inside and keeping me awake at night, I figured I'd write a little continuance to the end of the last episode. I'm intending to turn this into a series of one-shots of Mike in prison and basically my** **hopes** **predictions for Season 6. But anyway, please let me know if that's something you'd want/enjoy and if you have any ideas or suggestions about things I should write (warning: there will** **probably** **definitely be a lot of angst), and I hope you enjoy this! :)**

 _"_ _There's no such thing as a white collar prison Mr Ross"_

Michael hadn't believed Mrs Danner's words of warning at the time. His mind had been less focussed on what he was leaving behind and what he was giving up, rather than what he was heading to. He'd maintained one idea – he was going to a white-collar prison. Despite his joking references to Harvey, this wasn't _The Shawshank Redemption._ But as he walked into the prison for the first time, these thoughts had deserted him, leaving him with the empty echoes of Harvey's final words to him. " _Watch your back in there, Mike"._ Suddenly, walking towards the reception of the prison, ready as he'd ever be to turn himself in, Mike felt more exposed than he had ever felt, and he found himself pining for the concerned and watchful gaze he was trying to hold on to, but that he knew had been cut off as soon as the doors closed. Suddenly, his heart began to beat erratically, and Mike felt his breath leave him. Before he even took the time to take in the surroundings of the room he'd stepped into, Mike had wheeled around and raced back out the doors. As soon as they opened, he could see Harvey, still leaning against the car, with his eyes fixated on the spot where Mike had disappeared. All façade of confidence had been stripped from both men in the time they'd been apart. Mike ran towards the wire gate, focussed on nothing but his best friend and the thoughts in his head spinning around, telling him _he couldn't do this, he couldn't do this, he couldn't do this._ By the time he reached the gate separating he and Harvey, the lawyer had walked right up to it.

A hollow feeling came over Mike. He was barely aware of his movements as he walked towards his best friend. All he could think about was… _Everything._ It started to dawn on him, as he stared at the man who had given him the life he had come to love. He'd never practice law again. This prison was going to be the only place he knew for two years. Two _whole_ years. For two years, he would only see Rachel or Harvey or Donna at allocated times. Across a table. He suddenly longed to be touched. Not even in any serious sense of the world. He longed to hold Rachel's hand, or feel Harvey's hand on his shoulder, or patting him on the back. He began to wonder if these friendly, distracted touches would still feel familiar to him by the time he got out. And finally, after 72 hours of only looking behind him, Mike finally saw what he was going into. And he couldn't handle it. The look on Harvey's face was near enough to heartbreak. His eyes were glittering with the barely suppressed tears that almost made it out during Mike's short absence. Mike's fingers snaked through the fence holes. He wasn't expecting Harvey to return the gesture, but it felt right. He wanted so badly to walk back through that gate, get into Harvey's car and drive all the way home… Much to Mike's surprise, Harvey's fingers brushed his as he gripped the fence next to Mike's hand. He wasn't overtly touching his hand, but it was enough. Both matter of time before the guards questioned what was happening by the gate, and separated the two of them, but for now, Mike had to spend time with his best friend. _Real_ time. Not time defined by a display of false confidence – Mike couldn't have left it like that, nor time that was dependent on when visitors were and were not allowed to be there, and which other prisoners were within earshot. Mike shivered at of them knew what it was: a show of support, and probably a large comfort for both men. In Mike's mind, he knew he should turn around. He knew it was only a the thought. Finally, he opened his mouth, and spoke three words that were not foreign to him, but carried the world beneath their tone.

"I'm scared Harvey."

Normally, the older lawyer would aim to reassure, or rather quell, the younger man's fear. Mike was one for irrational worrying and over the top reactions, but Harvey had always been there to assure the kid that he'd take care of things, and that everything had a guarantee to work out. This had been the case, every time Mike's secret was in jeopardy, or when the whole Liberty Rail fiasco was taking place. It had been the spoken promise between the two men, up until the moment that Mike signed away his life to Anita Gibbs. And even following that, when everyone else (including Mike) implored Harvey to stop insisting it was a done deal, he fought. And that was why the lawyer stayed silent. He had failed. But it was more than that. Unlike his regular post-failure guilt, which was entirely self-fuelled and self-centred, he had failed _Mike._ And now his best friend was here, staring at him through a prison gate, stripped of all bravado and any hint of confidence. This was just Mike, staring him in the face and telling him he was afraid. And there was nothing Harvey could do about it.

"Mike…" Harvey started, with no intention of ever finishing his sentence.

Mike let his name drop from Harvey's lips, into the heavy silence hanging in the air between them. He knew as well as Harvey did that the older lawyer had nothing to say. Finally, after the silence between them had grown so thick that both men were beginning to feel choked by their own lack of words, Mike spoke.

 _"_ Clifford Danner," he said, his voice shuddering and barely audible.

"What about him?"

Harvey's voice matched Mike's in tone and volume. Neither man was okay with this situation, in which they had been stripped of all control, all courage and all dignity. They were the shells of the confident, witty lawyers they had been minutes before their arrival at the prison. Now, they were just men.

"When… Gloria Danner came to me, after I took the plea deal she… She told me that prison changes people. And at first, I didn't think anything of it, y'know? I thought, it's two years, what's the worst that could happen? But now… All I can think about is Clifford Danner, and how he went from having everything to gain to… Getting shot in a diner because that's the only place that would take him."

"That's not gonna happen to you" Harvey replied. And this time, his tone was serious, assuring. It felt right to Mike, and he almost relaxed a bit. Harvey sounded like Harvey, and when Harvey Spectre makes promises, he means them. Most of the time.

"How do you know that?" Mike asked, almost laughing. The idea of the downward spiral that awaited him made him weak at the knees, and thinking about it now wasn't helping. But when he was in his right mind, Harvey Spectre had an answer for everything. So Mike decided to keep pushing.

"Because you're not Clifford Danner," Harvey said simply.

Mike actually did laugh this time - a wry, empty laugh that almost choked him and forced tears from his eyes. What the hell was he supposed to do with that pearl of wisdom?

"And Clifford Danner didn't have me on his side."

 **THANKS FOR READING! I'm not sure how out of character I ended up writing them, but I tried to justify my angsty writing as best I could! This is obviously a completely foreign and upsetting experience for both of them, so I assumed they'd probably drop their facades a little bit and be a bit more compassionate towards each other... Let me know what you thought about that, but I love writing them that way! Anyway, like I said above, please let me know if you have any requests or suggestions for this one-shot series and if you have any general feedback! I love hearing from you guys 3 Hope you're looking forward to this as much as I am! See you next time x**


	2. Cellmates

**Hey everyone! I'm back with a part two! Thank you all for your reviews, I'm really self-conscious about my writing and reviews are really the only things that motivate me to continue posting, so they honestly mean the world to me! Sorry if this one is fairly unremarkable, but I needed a bridge to sort of establish Mike's situation and give a bit more of an idea of the place he's in during this series of one-shots. I'm currently working on two more that should be uploaded within the next few days, which will hopefully give you something a bit more dramatic! Anyway, I hope you enjoy!**

As Mike Ross shuffled down the dingy concrete corridor, he felt his mind start to drift, as it so often did during difficult situations. The first thing it drifted to was an image of Harvey, stumbling around his office and grabbing for a glass of water. At the time, Mike had assumed the worst about Harvey's condition, but as soon as his boss told him the real problem – a panic attack – Mike was kicking himself for not seeing it. Panic attacks are practically a "buy one get one free" deal when you're an 11 year old boy trying to deal with the loss of not one, but both of your parents, and although Mike hadn't had one in years, he should've seen the signs right away. He knew how they started. The uncomfortable feeling in your gut, sinking lower and lower until it's so heavy you can no longer breathe…

Mike's palms were sweating, and he tried to manoeuvre the gear he was holding so he could wipe them on his new, prison-issued orange jumpsuit. In this corridor, with prisoners – or rather, his _fellow_ prisoners – leering out at him, Mike felt more exposed than he'd ever felt before, and he found himself longing for someone familiar, anyone with a face he remembered. He was beginning to feel choked, swathed in orange and branded one of them.

He _was_ one of them. A criminal.

When he finally reached his cell, all Mike wanted to do was collapse onto the only available mattress he could see, but the face of the man on the top bunk told him otherwise. As the guard walked away, Mike had to stop himself from calling out to him to stay. The man in the top bunk was strong – anyone could tell that just by looking at him, and his close crew cut revealed a long scar over the top of his head, where the hair hadn't quite grown. Mike swallowed, squirming under the gaze of the older man.

 _"_ _Harvey would know what to do right now."_

Mike didn't know whether he was wishing that Harvey was here with him right now, or whether he was thinking that Harvey should be here _instead_ of him. He hoped it was the former. Harvey didn't deserve to be here. Mike did. And that's how it turned out.

Still, Mike was longing for the older lawyer's smooth talking tongue as he stood in the doorway of the cell, still laden with sheets and shoes in his arms, and tried to steel himself to hide his weaknesses. The man on the top bunk still hadn't spoken, and Mike wondered whether he should just walk in and put down his stuff. Eventually, he decided to do just that. His mind was screaming as he stepped forward – Mike didn't think he'd ever felt so afraid of performing such a simple task.

"Hey, I know you."

Mike had to stop himself from leaping a foot in the air as a deep voice rang through the small concrete cell. His head snapped up in time to see the man lowering himself down from the top bunk, to stand at Mike's level. Well, he would have been Mike's level, had he not been at least a foot taller than him. Mike swallowed cautiously, and tried to muster up the courage to reply. But before he could, the man continued.

"You're that fake lawyer kid, the one who didn't go to law school."

Memories of the night he'd spent in a cell with the US Marshall came flooding back to him, and Mike began to question how he could've ever been so confident and cool in the face of danger.

"Y-Yeah," Mike cursed himself immediately for stuttering, "what's that got to do with you?"

"Got nothin' to do with me pal, except that it's got everything to do with me."

Mike squinted in confusion. "Excuse me?"

"Well, let me put it this way," the man replied. "You're my cellie, and whether I like it or not, I gotta go to sleep every night, knowing that you're on the bottom bunk. Now, the guy I had before this… Wasn't too accommodating of my needs." At this, the man ran his hands over his knuckles, balling them into fists and releasing them, in a gesture that Mike knew was supposed to appear to him as threatening.

"He thought," the man continued, "that he was tougher than me. He was in here for… Assault, aggravated robbery… I can only guess. He didn't have the privilege of making the papers like _you_ did…" The man eyed Mike up and down.

"Now, I'm not trying to be threatening…"

 _"_ _Yes you are."_ Mike thought, but didn't say.

"But I've just gotta tell you the facts. Do what I say, and we both sleep like babies at night. Don't and… Well, let's just say you're not gonna be seeing my _former_ cellie out in the yard anytime soon." He chuckled slightly, which only made Mike feel queasier.

Mike's mind was working overtime. He knew this guy's angle, and he knew what might happen if he agreed to comply with anything and everything he wanted, but he had to weigh that up against what _definitely would_ happen if he didn't. He found himself recalling his very first day at Pearson Specter Litt (or Pearson Hardman, as it had been called then), when Harvey had strolled into his office and told Mike that unfortunately, he was going to have to let him go, because Jessica might find out what Harvey had done. Back then, Mike had told him that, while if Harvey kept him around, Jessica _might_ find out, if he fired him, Jessica _would_ find out. It had been a guarantee back then, or has Mike had put it, him putting his interests back up next to Harvey's. The memory relaxed Mike somewhat. He suddenly felt secure, as he got a vision of what his life could've been like, had Harvey not taken a chance on him. In fact, he'd probably be in prison anyway by this point.

"Well, I seem to be at a disadvantage," Mike said, trying to keep his voice level, "you know my name, and apparently my life story, but I don't know a thing about you."

The phrase wasn't meant to be challenging, but Mike noticed the man raise himself up slightly, as if squaring up for a fight, before he stuck out his hand for Mike to shake.

"The name's Lennox,," he said, gripping Mike's hand unusually tight. "People call me Lenny. And I know you already – Michael, right?"

Mike forced a polite smile.

"People call me Mike," he replied.

"Well, Mike, why don't you park your pretty, polite self down on the bottom bunk and get all your things set up." Lenny's gaze slowly travelled up and down Mike's body, and he suddenly felt choked up.

"I think we're gonna work out to be a perfect match- as cellmates, of course."

And with that, Lennox clambered back onto the top bunk, leaving Mike to collapse onto his undressed bed, trying to stop his chest from heaving. His throat was closing over, as hot tears threatened to force their way out of his eyes, and the thought crossed his mind for the umpteenth time.

 _He couldn't do this._

 **That's it for now! Sorry that the ending was a bit of a sad one, but I'm trying to establish Mike's state of mind right now, and it's more reflective of the helpless, in-need-of-guidance Mike from the earlier seasons, rather than the overconfident Mike we've been seeing ever since season 4.**

 **Also, I apologise in advance for the lack of Rachel in this series so far. I'm a much bigger advocate for the main relationship of the story being the friendship between Harvey and Mike, because that's the whole reason I liked the show so much, but I have no problem with Mike and Rachel together, and I know many people like seeing them together, so I will definitely include her, I just find it hard to write her because her relationship with Mike doesn't really interest me in the slightest, unlike Harvey and Mike's friendship, which I love writing.**

 **Anyway, don't forget to review and let me know what you think, and request other one-shots that you want to see! Like I said, I am working on a couple more over the course of today, that should be uploaded very soon! Thank you for reading xxx**


	3. Visiting Hours

**Hey guys! Sorry it's been a little while, it took me a bit of time to write this, and then I spent even longer contemplating whether or not I should actually upload it... Let me know what you guys think! It's quite a heavy topic/subject (one that comes up quite often in TV shows about prison) so here's an advanced warning/trigger warning for mentions and SLIGHT but barely covered descriptions of rape.**

Three uncomfortable nights had gone by since Mike's arrival in the prison. He hadn't slept for two of them. On the third night… The expression on Lennox's face as he stared Mike up and down had been burned into the younger man's brain. He had been terrified of falling asleep, of being left vulnerable (more vulnerable than he already _was_ of course) and he had been right to be. Now, on his fourth day at the prison, Mike was struggling hard to keep his nausea at bay as he tried, once again, to not appear weaker than he already did.

What made the whole thing worse was, because of a processing error, Mike hadn't been able to make calls or compile a visitor's list. They had promised him that it had been a genuine mistake, and that it would be fixed by the end of the week, but until then he was going to have to do without. As if Mike hadn't already been lonely enough. He'd managed to keep to himself over the past three days. He ate amongst others, but at the end of the table, near the door – not far enough away from other inmates to appear weak or isolated, but far enough away that, as of yet, Mike hadn't had to hold a conversation consisting of more than a couple of sentences.

However, as much as Mike was longing to avoid the other prisoners, he was pining for a friendly voice. His heart was heavy, and he could feel himself slipping into a place he hadn't been to since the months after his parents died. He was alone, so totally alone, and he had nobody. And the worst part was, he deserved it.

Four days in, and still lacking in any outside communication, Mike had given up. The bell for visiting hours rang, piercing a hole into Mike's heart, because all he wanted was to walk out into that room and see Rachel, or Harvey, or Donna. Hell, he'd even see _Louis_ if it meant he could talk to somebody not wearing orange or blue. He missed speaking to someone without counting his words, and working hard not to offend someone. He missed the luxury of speaking without any danger of being hurt for what he'd said.

Mike laid chest deep in his thoughts, waiting and begging for the bell to ring out again, and announce the end of visiting hours. He couldn't stand the thought of everyone else meeting the people they loved, hugging them, and sitting down to talk about everything and nothing, only half appreciating the luxury they were allowed. They were probably cursing the fact that they were only allowed a small amount of time, not appreciating the fact that they were getting any time at all. Mike hated them. He hated everyone in here. He felt hot tears running down his face as he felt all the anger and hopelessness and sadness he'd been feeling since he walked away from Harvey at the prison gate began to well up inside of him like a pot boiling over. And the thought of his third night… That third night was burned in his brain, and he couldn't get it out, he couldn't get it out, he _couldn't…_

With his eyes closed and his vision impaired, Mike's hearing was acute enough to pick up footsteps walking down the hall towards him, and the distinct shift of a prison guard's gait (accounting for the gun attached to their left hip). Mike swiftly sat up, trying to compose himself before the guard reached his cell. Nevertheless, despite the fact Mike was upright and the tears had been wiped from his eyes, the guard stopped. Mike swallowed, as if he hadn't had enough on his mind already…

"Ross?" The guard asked questioningly. Mike had never seen him before, which led him to believe that the guard was looking for confirmation that he had the right man. Mike nodded slowly, trying to treat the guard with as much respect as his defeated spirit could muster.

As he tried to meet the guard's (whose name tag read "Burrows") eyes, Mike suddenly registered how flustered the guy looked. He was panting slightly, and his movements were more erratic. Whatever Burrows had done, he'd just got a pretty stern telling off for it.

"You've got a visitor," Burrows reported, and suddenly anything else the guy said didn't really matter. Mike stood up fast – not caring how desperate he appeared, and rushed past the guard towards the visitor's lounge, while Burrows called after him, trying to regain some authority in his voice.

"ROSS! Other way, I've been instructed to take you to a private visitor's room."

Mike remembered a room like this, from an interview with Clifford Danner. His heart sank suddenly, at the thought of walking in there to see just another lawyer or reporter or even the unrelenting Gibbs, trying to get him to turn on Harvey once again. He walked a little more slowly in the opposite direction this time, praying that he saw someone, _anyone_ he recognised, who could offer him some small comfort.

 **ONE HOUR PREVIOUSLY**

It had been a long time since Donna had seen Harvey so damn pissed. She watched him storm around the reception of the prison, making no move to stop him because the rage he was expressing was the same rage she was feeling herself.

It had been four days since Harvey and Mike had left what was _supposed_ to be Mike and Rachel's wedding. Four days since Harvey had then appeared at her door, struggling to disguise the tear tracks on his face. Four days since she'd been without Harvey. It wasn't like the man had seen Mike all day every day, but the lawyer seemed lost without him. It was different to when Mike had left to become an investment banker, and even different to when she had left him for Louis, because both times, Harvey had known they were safe.

Now, and for the past four days, Harvey had been tortured by the thought of Mike's situation. It wasn't even the thought of him in prison, really. It was the lack of communication and complete radio silence. Donna had tried to comfort Harvey, telling him that Mike was probably just adjusting, and trying to adapt to his new situation, and that he'd call when he was ready. But he didn't. It was only after Rachel called Donna on the fourth day, asking if either of _them_ had heard from Mike, that Harvey had stormed down to the prison with a face like thunder shouting and swearing at anyone who would listen, and demanding to see his best friend. Donna watched on as Harvey ripped each receptionist to shreds, as they tried to tell him politely that there had "been a mix-up with the processing" and that he'd "be able to see Mr Ross within the next two weeks" but that he'd "have to be patient and please calm down."

Finally, after a lot more yelling, swearing and fighting, a disgruntled security guard agreed to let Harvey use a visitation room, but that he'd only allow one person to visit at a time. Harvey turned to Donna with an expression that was half protest and half pleading, and Donna understood immediately, backing off towards the waiting room the frazzled security guard was trying to direct her to, while Harvey stalked towards the visitation rooms with a walk that was half proud and half desperate.

Now, Harvey sat watching the door, his eyes unmoving and focussed, listening for any evidence of his friend's approach. He didn't know what he'd say when Mike arrived. There was so much he wanted his friend to know, so much he wanted to ask him…

But when the door opened, all trains of thought were gone from Harvey's mind. Mike shuffled in, and one look at him told Harvey he was already struggling beyond belief.

"Take the cuffs off." Harvey said without thought. He was rattled. For some reason, he hadn't pictured Mike wearing anything but a suit as he walked in. The orange jumpsuit exasperated Mike's pale skin, making him appear even sickly and small. It was baggy, and not suiting to the man's thin frame (was he always that thin?) and it seemed to hang loosely like shedding skin.

But the worse things about Mike were his eyes, desperate and pleading, hidden behind hollow circles and deep purple bags.

' _It's been four days'_ Harvey thought to himself, desperately wondering how the hell he could've let this happen.

"Mike…" He started, unable to control his words, "what have they done to you?"

Mike had stumbled down the hallway, wearing the handcuffs they had so forcefully slapped on him, not even caring about anything except whoever the hell was behind that door. His wrists hurt, however, and he began to realise the cuffs were too tight. He felt constricted, fretting and panicking as he looked down at his hands, suddenly feeling the need to squint at the bright orange of his jumpsuit. He couldn't see anyone like this! He was a disgrace, and he was ashamed. But it was too late, he was at the door, and there was no turning back now…

It was Harvey. Sitting there in a perfectly arranged, expensive suit, leaning his head on his hands the way he so often did when he was thinking about something. Harvey, looking as normal and _Harvey_ as the last time Mike saw him. The lawyer stood up, subconsciously buttoning up his suit jacket and walked towards Mike, looking him up and down. The cuffs on Mike's wrists started to burn, and his cheeks flushed slightly with shame. But he didn't care. It was Harvey. Harvey was here. And everything would be okay.

He barely heard Harvey demand that his cuffs be removed, he only felt their weight lift, and he was suddenly aware that the guard had left the room, closing the door behind him. And now he was alone with his best friend, and they could talk. Mike wasn't alone anymore. He felt tears spring into his eyes, and his throat felt thick, but before he could force any words out, he heard Harvey speak.

"Mike… What have they done to you?"

Mike moved to sit down, desperate for a way out of the conversation, but Harvey moved to block him, placing a hand on his shoulder and staring directly into the young man's eyes.

" _Mike."_ He said, strongly enough to make Mike's head snap up to meet his gaze.

"I know you probably want me to sit down like I would with any other issue, and avoid it with humour and distraction and talk about the firm and who's screwing with who and which clients are stirring trouble…" Harvey broke off for a second, his mind flicking back to the turmoil that their firm (or the skeletal remains of what had been their firm) was in, before blinking it out of his mind. "But I can't do that – at least not yet. You need to talk to me."

A tear rolled down Mike's cheek, and without thinking, he pulled the older man into a firm hug. He was relishing every second. The feeling of Harvey's hands on his back, flat and supportive, the strength of Harvey's chest, the tickle of his breath on Mike's neck, and the all-round _warmth_ of his body. Mike hugged his best friend like a soldier going to war – as though it would be the very last time. It wasn't romantic, or anything of the sort, but out of all the hugs Mike could remember (which, considering his memory, was a fair amount) it was the best hug he'd experienced in a long time.

And then they broke apart, and he was talking. He was telling Harvey about everything – about his cellmate, about how lonely he was, about how ashamed he felt to be dressed in orange, and how he never thought he'd consider fresh air a luxury. Even working as an associate, he'd still been allowed _some_ time outside, he'd said, boasting a genuine, but shallow laugh from Harvey, who's face had sunk more and more with every word Mike spoke.

But by the end, there was still one thing Mike had left out. It lingered on the edge of his tongue, begging to be said. Mike wanted nothing more than to be able to force it out of his mouth. He wanted Harvey to know, because Harvey would know what to say, how to help. But he couldn't get the words past his lips. So they moved on. They joked about Louis, Mike asked after Rachel and her parents, and Harvey informed him that Donna was waiting on the other side of the wall, with an intricately thought out voicemail from Mike's fiancé stored on her phone.

Eventually, both men were beginning to realise the borrowed time they were speaking on, and Mike was telling himself that this was it… The last chance he had to tell Harvey and get this out in the open… Harvey could help. Harvey _would_ help.

"Listen, Mike, I know you've got something on your mind," Harvey said suddenly. Mike could have wept, right there, out of gratitude for Harvey being the first to bring it up, and sparing him the discomfort.

Harvey reached over, trying to grab the younger man's arms and force Mike to look at him.

"What is it?"

Mike swallowed. Now or never.

"You know… I told you about my cellmate… About his rules… And how I said he hadn't told me what they were yet…"

Harvey's face hardened and his heart seemed to drop as though it were made of stone, but he didn't break his gaze. He nodded solemnly and urged Mike to continue.

"I lied." Mike said simply, steeling himself for the story he was about to divulge.

"He… It was the third night, last night, and I was trying to sleep, y'know I hadn't slept all that much and I was finally starting to drift off and I suddenly felt the bunk shift… And he got down and he… He came over to me and… I couldn't… God, Harvey. I'm so ashamed. I feel disgusting – I can't get the memory out of my head," he was growing more and more distraught with each word. "I… Can't… Stop… Thinking about it." He finally ended, looking up into Harvey's eyes, only to feel his heart stop.

When he'd been considering telling Harvey, Mike's focus had been on the ways Harvey he could help him. He'd barely thought about anything else. And now that he stared into the eyes of his best friend, and he saw real darkness. His mind snapped back to the night Harvey had found out about Stephen Huntley, and the way he'd looked at Donna before they'd all watched him storm into the men's bathroom, returning sporting a fair array of injuries.

"Harvey- Listen I shouldn't have told you… It's no big deal, I mean, I can handle it-"

Harvey screwed up his eyes. Blood was rushing through his head with the speed of a lahar, speeding down a mountain and destroying everything in its path. All Harvey could hear over the sound of his own thoughts was his heart beating, and beating _fast._ How the _fuck_ had he let this happen? Mike should never have gone to prison. Mike shouldn't be here. Mike shouldn't be sitting in front of him with tears streaming down his face, trying his hardest to act brave. None of this should be happening, but it was, and it was all Harvey's _fucking fault._

"Not a big deal?!" Harvey's voice came out louder and angrier than he'd intended it, but he made no effort to calm himself. "Mike, you do realise what you just told me about was a crime, right?"

Mike turned the corner of his mouth up, in the faintest attempt at a smile.

"What're you gonna do? Send him to prison?"

But Harvey wasn't laughing. In fact, he was crying. He'd stood up and turned away from Mike, in the hopes that the younger man wouldn't notice.

"Mike… What do you want me to do?"

Mike hadn't expected that. He'd just assumed Harvey would _know_ what to do. But this was… It was a good question actually. He'd felt so trapped, so helpless and so alone, and for once he actually hadn't considered how he could get out of it.

"I… Don't know…"

In two strides, Harvey crossed the room and swept Mike up in a strong, protective hug, that was unlike anything Mike had experienced before. The hug was fiercely impassioned, speaking hundreds of words in the space of a few seconds. Mike allowed his head to rest completely on Harvey's shoulder as he tried not to ruin the man's $3000 suit. "I'm so sorry," he heard Harvey whisper, and Mike found himself replying, over and over again.

"It's okay. It's okay. It's okay…"

"Is it?" Harvey said, pulling away. Mike swallowed. No matter how he answered that question, Harvey would know the truth.

"Look, Mike, first thing's first, I'm gonna do everything I can to get you out of that cell, and I'll have Donna draw up a –"

"No." Mike said, suddenly and far too loudly.

"Sorry," he began, immediately afterwards, "I mean, please get me out of the cell, please, but… Don't tell Donna. Don't tell anyone."

Harvey looked the man up and down, standing with his back hunched and arms shadowing his ribs, as if protecting himself from further harm.

"Okay," Harvey said softly, noticing that Mike was starting to fidget, the way he always used to when he was afraid (" _afraid that someone was going to find out about his secret, mostly",_ Harvey thought). At that moment, a swift knock on the door startled the two men.

"Come on man, visiting hours ended almost forty-five minutes ago, cut me some slack and wrap it up will you?" The disgruntled guard outside the door sounded both nervous and pissed off, and Mike had some suspicion that being treated to Harvey Specter in a bad mood may have contributed to these emotions.

Harvey put a final hand on Mike's shoulder, squeezing it and looking directly into the younger man's eyes.

"You're not spending another night in that cell, Mike" he whispered, as the guard opened the door, "I promise."

And with that, Harvey was lead from the room, leaving Mike, once again, completely alone.

 **So there it is! I understand this is a very touchy subject and it's so hard to write something like this well, which is why I spent such a long time debating whether or not it was a good idea to post it, but there it is. I could very well take this down within the next couple of days, but it just all depends on how it's received. So on that note, please, please, PLEASE leave a review and tell me what you think about this, and whether or not you think I should keep it up... Hope you all enjoyed reading this! Let me know if you did/didn't enjoy it, I love hearing your feedback, good or bad! I hope to be updating soon! Bye for now 3**


	4. A Nightmare, a Riot and a Devil

**Hello everyone! Finally finished this new chapter and I'm pretty pleased with it, however I did write it in a bit of a rush so apologies in advance if there are a few grammatical/spelling errors! Thank you all so much for your reviews, they honestly mean the world to me, and checking a** **story and seeing new reviews is the best motivation and inspiration for me to write more, I absolutely love it! This chapter is pretty violent - bit of forewarning, but it is straying into the territory of what a lot of you requested, but I decided to split it up a little! Hope you guys enjoy!**

The night was crisp and biting as Harvey Specter stumbled out onto the balcony of his condo, chest heaving and hands shaking as he was met with the faint buzz and thrum of city noise below him. The lights of New York, normally a comfort to him on lonely nights, glared too bright, piercing his frantically blinking eyes as he tried his hardest to shield himself from their persistent glow. His mind was swimming, bogged down and swirling with thoughts of...of everything. Of the first moment, four months ago, when Mike had told him he'd been... Harvey swallowed, bile rising in his throat. Four months later, following many vigorous negotiations (and threats) to get Mike out of his cell, and Harvey still didn't feel secure.

Mike had stayed in the same cell for another two months, and although he would never tell Harvey outright when he came to visit him, Harvey would always know that it had happened again. Helplessness was not a feeling Harvey Specter was accustomed to feeling, however in the past four months since Mike had taken that deal, helplessness had become a default emotion. He always hugged Mike a little tighter after a night where it had happened. Mike knew he knew, when he felt the older man's embrace tighten before he was ushered out of the prison by the guards. Neither man acknowledged it, however, except when Mike would ask him quietly, eyes darting around nervously, whether he'd made any progress.

Two months into this arrangement, Harvey finally made a breakthrough. Through a wide variety of colourful (and slightly questionable) negotiation tactics, Harvey finally found a legal loophole allowing him to get Mike out of the cell. It sickened Harvey to know that the asshole who had made Mike's life a misery wasn't receiving any punishment, but according to his associate, the man was already serving consecutive life sentences, and Harvey supposed that would have to be enough. By this time, Mike had lightened up considerably, and his visits with Harvey were no longer as somber as they were during the first month. Harvey would relay news about the rebuilding of the firm, often bringing Mike legal dilemmas or case files to keep him busy (Harvey would never admit it, but Mike's help, especially when the kid had nothing else to put his mind to, was incredibly valuable), and Mike would recount tales of the prison, which - thankfully - were tedious for the most part. Things returned to a sense of normalcy - Harvey developed a routine. Home, work, Mike, home. It wasn't good, but it was better.

However, on nights like these, when Harvey awoke from a nightmare choking and unable to breathe, it felt like the whole world had collapsed on his chest. On nights like this, things showed themselves to Harvey as they really were, shattering his rose-tinted fantasy, and reality would rise up in front of him like an abstract beast, blocking his view and clamping down on his throat. He would stumble out the first door he saw, clutching his chest and forcing himself to breathe, and try to push thoughts of Mike as far out of his mind as possible. It had worked every other time before, and if it hadn't, he'd call Donna or Dr. Agard and breathe into the phones receiver while they assured him that Mike was okay, and would remain okay until Harvey saw him again. He hated being so weak, so pathetic, and in truth, he normally wasn't. On the outside, Harvey had completely accepted Mike's ill fate, and he appeared fairly well adjusted. However, the internal emotions Harvey had managed to quash reared their ugly heads once in a while, resulting in...this.

Harvey took a long, hot shower, before picking up his phone and checking the time on the home screen. Six thirty. He figured Donna would be awake, so, punching in her number, he brought the phone to his ear and awaited his secretary's voice. She picked up on the third ring, her voice sounding bleary and heavy with sleep. "Donna, I need you to cancel my morning." He said briskly, trying to keep the pain of the night before out of his voice. "I've gotta go see Mike." Donna complied immediately, leaving Harvey with a sympathetic click of her tongue and an offer to join him. He refused, however half of him was aching to say yes. He never saw Mike this early in the day. The prison was about a half hour drive from Pearson Hardman, and a forty five minute drive from his condo, making it far more practical for Harvey's visits to fall in the evenings, however, something in the older lawyer was driving his actions - he knew he had to go see Mike as soon as possible. Something twisted in Harvey's gut, and he had a dizzying feeling that something was wrong with the kid...

Meanwhile, at Danbury Federal Prison, it was going on 7am, and in cell block D, that meant another hour the prisoners had been successful. Mike squinted his eyes, wanting more than anything to just cover his ears to the clamour. A broken air conditioning unit. That's all it had been. But it was enough to anger one guy, way up in the corner of cell block D, and therefore enough to anger the prisoners who were out of their cells at the time. It was enough to start a riot, which had now been ranging for a very long time. Mike's cell mate (thankfully) had disappeared into the fray early, allowing Mike to cower fearfully, alone in his cell. Screams and cries of prisoners and guards echoed from the communal room below, and Mike cringed at the sound of slicing flesh. He could see blood dripping onto the floor of the cell in front of him, and he could smell it in the air, metallic and sickeningly strong.

Mike closed his eyes, trying to block out the sounds. The air around him was hot and thick, a mixture between the abundance of screaming, sweaty men filling the space he was in, and the still faulty air conditioning unit that had started this whole mess. In truth, Mike was terrified. It was an amount of violence he could barely even comprehend, and - even in the four months he'd been in the prison - he'd never felt more uneasy and unsafe. Control had been completely taken from the guards, and Mike could see at least two, unmoving on the floor, from where he sat huddled up against the wall of the bunk. At that moment, a curiosity rose inside Mike, compelling him to lift himself slowly from his perch, and head towards the door of his cell. Every part of his brain was screaming - blood was rushing through his head so quickly he could almost hear it, but he didn't stop. He simply moved further and further into the fray, glancing around cautiously, although he didn't really know who he was hiding from.

What Mike saw below him was pure carnage. Men were swarming the bottom floor of the cell block, swinging and slashing and wrestling - either guards or other prisoners. Most of the men were stained with crimson, looking like something out of The Walking Dead as they thrust and stabbed at anyone who came near them. The injured and dead lay in speckles and puddles of blood on the cold concrete floor, slowly being consumed by the pulsating mob of men. Mike wanted to flee, run back into the safety of his cell and sink into the floor. His heart raced and he felt bile rising to his throat at the scene unfolding beneath him. But his eyes were glued to it, like when he and his parents had watched a man almost mauled to death by a lion at the New York Zoo when he'd been younger. Fear rooted him to the spot, but it was a dark and dangerous curiosity that compelled him to stay.

A loud crash and something brushing past his hair made his head snap upwards - angling towards the level of cells above him. Directly next to his head was a man's foot - not clad in regular standard-issue prison shoes either. A guard's shoe, heavy and heeled, swinging limply and twitching slightly. Mike swallowed, regretting every minuscule movement of his head as he followed the shoe up the man's leg, before resting on his face. Officer Brooks. Average by all regards, and Mike had never really had a proper interaction with him but... Mike never forgot a name. Brooks' arms still moved slowly, clawing at the rope around his neck, and Mike could hear him gargling for air as the rope tightened. However, blood was soaking the rope, and Mike noted that, had the guard been able to break free of the noose, he wouldn't have lasted long. Mike willed himself to stay staring at the man's face, all too conscious of the presence lurking behind him. A man's hand was clamped on the railing above Brooks, staring down at Mike.

As his eyes darted upward, Mike felt everything inside him collapse. He locked eyes with the murderous figure, standing over the body of the murdered guard, and he knew everything was over. Lennox, his former cellmate, swung himself over the railing, dropping down next to where Mike stood, quickly joined by two men Mike had never seen before.

"Well, well, well," Lennox said, his voice sending knives into Mike's skull, "of all the snitches to run into..."

Mike opened his mouth, desperate to say that he didn't see anything, and that he wasn't gonna snitch, but before he could get a word out, he felt the uncomfortably familiar touch of Lennox's rough hands, one on his arm and one covering his mouth, and he was being dragged backwards, back into his cell...

"Nice place you got here Mike," Lennox sneered, throwing him down with a thud. Mike landed hard, his head narrowly avoiding the corner of the bed. "You boys recognise this fella? Used to be my cellie, but our time got cut short - didn't it Mike?"

Mike grunted as he tried to sit up, ignoring what Lennox was saying to him.

"But, you see, Mike got this fancy pad-" Lennox gestured around the small cell, "by doing the one thing he's good at."

Mike felt shivers go down his spine. In fact, his entire body was trembling, despite how hard he was trying to suppress it. He raised his eyes just in time to lock eyes with Lennox, immediately making him queasy.

"By snitching." Lennox finished, with a sickening grin.

"But don't worry boys - what with the riot goin' on down there, I'd say we have an hour? Two? Shouldn't take more than forty five minutes to make sure this kid never opens his mouth again... Literally or figuratively."

Mike had just enough time to whirl around and spit up all the bile in his chest, before all three of them were on him, beating him, cutting him, slamming their fists down on any surface of Mike's body they could find. Mike wheezed and screamed and gasped for air, hoping that somebody- anybody, would hear him. But nobody did. He went on sobbing and shouting, until his throat was hoarse and clammy, and he was all but hacking up the words. And just when he knew he couldn't take it anymore, because every part of his body was aching, the final strike came, and a swift punch to the back of the head sent him crumpling to the floor.

The parking lot of Danbury Federal Prison was near barren, and Harvey spotted one, maybe two cars on the road leading into the solemn place. He'd never been this early in the morning, and he assumed it must be a regular. By 5PM, when Harvey would normally visit Mike, the place was swarming with families, wives, children, lawyers and... Friends (although, at this point, Harvey fit himself more under the family category).

He strode into the prison with all the confidence of a man who'd just given himself the morning off, trying to shake the events of earlier off his memory, but as he approached the front desk, he realised that it was completely deserted. In fact, everywhere was. Harvey started to feel a dull panic in the pit of his chest, that maybe Mike wasn't okay...

"Donna?"

The redhead answered the phone on the third ring.

"Donna, nothing's... Nothing's going on at Danbury is there? Like on the news?"

He heard the distinct sound of keys typing, and he held his breath, just hoping and praying that he was wrong, that everything was okay...

"Oh God," his secretary's voice came through the line again, sending waves through his heart and making him weak at the knees.

"Donna, just tell me," he pleaded, unable to take not knowing any longer.

"Harvey..." her concerned voice rang out, "...you have to get out of there."

 **AND THAT'S IT! (Sorry for the slight cliffhanger guys don't hate me) I really really hope you enjoyed this chapter (and that I didn't mess you around too much with the perspectives etc.) and if you did/didn't/sort of did/sort of didn't, PLEASE let me know in the comments because I value reviews above anything else, and I just love hearing what you guys have to say, because it helps me to improve and become better for it!**

 **Until next time my loves!**


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